


Sweet Tooth

by Lady_Therion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOWAR, Character Study, F/M, Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: Everyone has a weakness, even Nesta.





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little taste for those Nessian cravings.

It wasn’t as if Nesta didn’t enjoy sweet things. Shortbread, custard, pastries, pudding, trifles...she loved them all—with almost wild abandon. She simply didn’t like others knowing about it. Especially Cassian, who never ceased to find ways to stoke her ire.

It was embarrassing how easily he could provoke her. From the moment they met, he had taken stock of her strengths and weaknesses as he would an opponent on the field. Then exploited the latter mercilessly. It was what was he was meant for, she supposed, what he had been honed to do.

In comparison, Nesta was young and inexperienced. Facts that he never failed to surface whenever he wanted to bait her. She had spent her whole life building up her walls; layers upon layers of ice and ivory, iron and steel. That Cassian could strip them away, that he seemed to _enjoy_ doing so...it drove her mad.

What right did he have to expose her rage, her sorrow, her  _fear_?

What was he trying to prove?

What could he possibly gain?

These were the questions that plagued her when Amren invited her to a confectionary one evening. Or rather, Amren had barged into her room without so much as knocking, then _demanded_ that she accompany her and the rest of Feyre's companions as they ventured into the city.

“I imagine my sister sent you in her stead.”

“No need to be haughty with me,” said Amren. “I find these outings about as entertaining as child-minding. It’s a tiresome and thankless duty, but a duty nonetheless.”

“Since when has carousing with fools become  _my_ duty?”

She tsked. “Stubborn girl. You’re a part of the Inner Circle now. Trying to tell those fools otherwise is a lost cause. Believe me, I’ve been doing so for the last few hundred years.”

“The High Lord seems to have a penchant for adopting strays...”

“He does,” said Amren, silver eyes gleaming. “Even the ones the bite— _especially_ the ones that bite.”

“Is that so?” Nesta looked away, shifting on the edge of the bed. “What of...what of the ones that had bitten the hand of his High Lady?” She turned her face towards the dying light in the window. “Wouldn’t he rather put such creatures down?”

Amren watched her, silent and assessing.

“I...I see the way they look at me,” she went on. “I hear the way they talk.” How Morrigan always came to Cassian’s defense no matter how many times Nesta had told that brute that she _wished to be left alone_. “They keep me here as a concession. They keep me here as a necessity for the coming war. They have no love for me....I am not their ‘family.’ I could never…”

Gods above, her emotions were as turbulent as an oncoming storm. The pain so deep and cutting she could feel a gash with every heartbeat. It came in waves, this pain. Her fury, her loneliness, her isolation...these were the only constants in her life. The only things she could truly rely on when nearly everyone else had failed her.

But most terrible of all, was the burden of her own failure.

Perhaps the Cauldron was the price she paid for her pride. Perhaps she would never be able to repay her debt...

“Listen to me,” said Amren, striding towards her. “And listen to me well. You are no caged bird. No sins of the past can shackle you unless you will it so. The path to atonement is a long and lonely road, but it will always be your choice to follow it.” Then, with unexpected gentleness, she lifted Nesta’s chin. “A great destiny lies ahead of you, Nesta Archeron. Do not waste it on regret.”

It was a long moment before Nesta cleared her throat, ashamed of the way her eyes stung and watered.

“And I suppose I should waste it on cakes and cookies instead?”

Amren huffed. “As if there’s anything better to waste it on.”

* * *

Velaris was a beautiful place. Nesta thought this went without saying, but Feyre was looking at her so hopefully that she found herself having to state the obvious.

“Your home is beautiful.”

Feyre’s face faltered, making Nesta stiffen. Had she said something wrong? If so, she had no idea to correct it. Velaris _was_ beautiful—its colorful stalls, its sidewalk cafes, its glittering lights...all of it was like a dream made solid.

“Yes it is,” Feyre began, cautiously. “I’m glad you came with us tonight.”  

“You might be the only one,” said Nesta before she could stop herself.

Feyre’s hand—the one with the markings—twitched at her side. As though she wanted to take hold of Nesta’s arm, but then thought better of it. “Why would you say that?”

To be honest, Nesta didn’t know. Perhaps it was because she had spent the entire day stewing about a certain general. Perhaps it was because she had prepared countless sneers and dismissals should he decide to tease her, like he always did. But lo and behold, he didn’t.

Instead, his attentions were spent solely on Morrigan. And why not? She was bright and bold and beautiful; easy to love and easy to laugh with. He had not spared a single word or a glance towards Nesta the entire evening. Not even in greeting. As though he had finally, _finally_ , heeded her desire for solitude.

She should have felt triumphant. Instead, she felt….hollow somehow. Unworthy. Like she was every inch the cold viper everyone said she was.

She shook her head. Madness, all of it. Why she ever agreed to come in the first place was beyond her.

“Nesta?”

She returned her sister’s worried gaze with a cool one. “It’s nothing, Feyre. I was just—”

“We’re here,” said Amren, ducking into a stairwell hidden between one of the many moonstone columns at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf. The stairwell itself led to a bright red door with a little gold bell that jingled every time someone crossed the threshold. Nesta trailed behind the wide-eyed group with her most veiled expression.

“So this is the famous Eshe’s?” said Rhysand as he surveyed the splash of bright pastels of every mouth-watering sweet imaginable. Gold-leaf plates were mounted on every available surface, staggered at different heights. Desserts of every color and texture were warmed and well-lit beneath bell-shaped covers, as radiant as rare jewels on display.

“I’d love to paint this,” said Feyre, leaning her head on her mate’s shoulder.

“With these three here?” said Morrigan, jutting her chin towards the trio of Illryian males. “There might not be anything left for you to capture.”

Indignant squawking followed by crude innuendos followed by inside jests. Nesta resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Don’t look so sour girl,” said Amren, sidling up to her. “The irony doesn’t become you.”

“Why am I doing this?” she asked sullenly. “Why am I here?”

“You were going to try some samples,” said Amren, leading her towards a silver tray in the corner of the shop. “And then you were going to enjoy yourself for once.”

“But—”

“No regrets, girl. Now here, have this chocolate.”

She stuffed a heart-shaped chocolate between Nesta’s lips, its salt and almond coating and gooey center nearly making her eyes cross. _When was the last time she tasted something_ **_so divine?_ **

“There we are,” said Amren. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Nesta said nothing, but helped herself to another piece of chocolate. Then another. And another.

* * *

Nesta didn’t know how she wandered to the alcove filled with cakes, but the little slices they placed on a velvet table for tasting was simply too much of a temptation. There was cream and mousse and caramel in between rich layers that were dark and golden and everything in between. There were crisp nuts from the Autumn Court and exotic fruits from Summer. She felt as though she were a child again, satisfying her unquenchable appetite in Cook’s kitchen whenever Father had brought home some of his trade.

She was happy.

“Will wonders never cease? Is Nesta Archeron actually smiling?”

She had just picked up a small bowl of creme brulee when she felt—rather than saw—Cassian’s large and looming presence over her shoulder. He always liked to invade her space, intimidate her with his enormous size, much like that first night, the only night, they had gotten...carried away at her father’s house.

It should have annoyed her, incensed her even. The way she could feel his heat and rippling energy—like fire made flesh—so close to her body. But right now, she could not seem to summon any of her bitterness or resentment. Odd how the warm and contented feeling that washed over her simply did not evaporate. Perhaps this outing had done her good after all.

“Yes I’m smiling,” she said, no barbs or brittleness underlying in her words. Instead, her words were...light, free. So light in in fact that she could feel her grin widen further. She almost relished the flustered shock that crossed Cassian’s face.

“Here.” She held out another silver spoon to him. “When I was little, I loved to the crack the caramel layer with a spoon. My mother hated it because Elain and Feyre would start cracking theirs too—repeatedly. And we all made such a fuss with the silverware afterwards.”

Cassian seemed intent on looking at her as though he had never seen her before. As though she were some creature summoned from a far-off somewhere like Amren was. Where was his confidence? His swagger? His jeers and jokes and jibes? It seemed that this five-hundred-year-old warrior was at a total loss for what to do when he _wasn’t_ engaged in combat.

Perhaps that was his weakness.

Even so, Nesta did not have the heart to take advantage of it.

Boldly, she took his fingers and placed the spoon there. Ignoring the electrifying tingle when her skin brushed his callouses, however briefly.

“Go ahead,” she coaxed. “Try it.”

His brows drew together. Perhaps he thought she was playing a trick? But he broke the top layer anyway, creating a satisfying crack that reminded Nesta of veins in a frozen lake. It was still her favorite part of the dessert, a small and simple joy that somehow survived all the nightmares she lived through. Her eyes must have shone with delight because the smile that dawned on Cassian’s face was...shy. Clumsy even.

Nesta did not want to think on that too deeply.

Instead, she dipped her spoon in the yellow custard and offered it to him. “Would you like some?”

He shuffled in place, looking pained and uneasy. Whatever spell that had him in thrall had vanished as quickly as a passing cloud. What poisonous thing had she said now? Was she doomed to be forever wrong-footed when it came to simply _talking_ with her sister’s friends? She decided not to think too deeply on that either, and began eating the creme brulee by herself.

Cassian gestured to his own mouth. “You have a little…”

Nesta tried to brush whatever crumbs or caramel were on her lips, but to no avail. Again, Cassian offered her a shy smile before brushing the pad of his thumb over the corner of her mouth. She held still as he did so, wondering at his strange gentleness. How his firm touch seemed to linger. So different from the brash and loud boor she had judged him to be.

Perhaps she had been wrong about that as well.

“Nesta...I…”

He stopped, then swallowed.

A small and sharp tug beat somewhere within her chest—so faint, she might have imagined it. She had no words for him in this moment. Perhaps there was nothing more to be said. Perhaps she should just enjoy the moment for what it was, fragile and tender. As though an understanding had sparked between them, as delicate as an ember against a winter field.

It was Morrigan who had called Cassian away, coaxing him with promises of dancing at Rita’s and a round of free drinks. It all sounded wonderful, but Nesta had grown tired and besides...

Cassian seemed reluctant to go.

“You can come with us,” he told her. 

The unabashed question in his hazel eyes was so earnest, so eager, so sincere. Nesta did not know what to make of it. She only knew that it made her nervous. Unsure. 

“Thank you,” she said. “But I think I’ll retire for the night.”

There he stood, rooted to the spot. As if anxious on what to say or do next. But the beckoning of his friends, his family, was ever more insistent. Eventually, he did turn to go. Though not without some measure of regret. Though why he should feel so torn was another thing Nesta refused to think about.

It was neither a battle or a clash of wills. No blood was drawn, or shed, or spilled between them. But even so, Nesta felt somehow victorious.

And from the wondering gaze Cassian gave her, she supposed he did too.


End file.
